To his right and left his comrades leaped over jersey barriers and took position. The ground itself was a sandy sheen of whites and browns. Desert colors. Devoid of greenery. Dirt and sand mixed with dust that left nothing to the imagination. It was a dead color, and perhaps in a few minutes, once the anticipated firefight erupted, he could add red to the color of the ground. Like the color of the sky. But for now, as dusk approached, it was heading toward mouse gray. Nothing moved. Not even a mouse.
He preferred the night. He could turn his infrared night vision goggles on and view the world in a different palette of colors, where whites were danger, and blacks and greys were the soothing colors of dead things that would not kill him. But in the daylight, in the hot sun, even in the evening hours, everything would be white with under those goggles. Blindingly white. The vision alone could kill him, besides the thirty millimeter shells that would like to rip his chest out.
He scanned his perimeter three hundred and sixty degrees. Then he rescanned in increments of five degrees until he reached the event horizon. Nothing dangerous caught his eye. Just sandy brown and the afore mentioned red sky. No trip wires, no disturbed areas of dirt, no footprints or half prints not fully brushed away.
He knew they were there. Hiding. Waiting. Camping out like little cupids waiting to sling an arrow directly to your temple. Head shot. The bulls eye to a terrorist. Top gun. He made a point of making sure he would disappoint them.
His comrades crackled over the radio: perimeter clear, move on to the next safe zone. He knew he should take the lead, set the standard, protect his fellow men. But he was tired. He had been chasing these bastards all morning long and into the afternoon. They were near the edge of the town now and only after one complete sweep of the this motley collection of bombed out dwellings would the captain agree to rest. Maybe even pause for a drink or a quick bite if no activity was present. But he knew they were here. They had avoided his men until now with gun and run. This was their last stand. Prepare to open up with everything that you've got.
He saw the remnants of the bottom half of a small shed, made of cinder blocks. The top half was long lost to rocket fire or dust storm, he didn't know which. But there were crevasses in the brick work that would give him a safe view to recon from. He decided to move toward it. It was slightly out in the open, but it was a damn good vantage spot. He could hold it.
Keeping low he darted out at a full run as men to each side of him moved into new positions. Moving earnestly he dashed toward the bricks and slid into place much like sliding into third base. He wouldn't jump inside until he could check it for hidden munitions. They loved to plant IED's in places like that. But if it was clean, he had a great spot. Many people would die from this spot if he could take it.
He peered over the top. Looked clean. He looked around at his new perimeter. He saw many of the men settling into doorways, behind sheds, barrels (not a good idea - stupid new recruits) and into any kind of nook and cranny or safe zone they could find. His position was a little bold, but it matched his personality. If nothing else he would draw the most fire, helping to point out all of the enemy positions. Take some shit for the team so they can do their work.
Looking inside, all he saw was a bag of what looked like dried goat manure. Great. They would kill him with bad smell. Suck it in soldier, he told himself, and leaped into the pit that was surrounded by the four rectangular walls of concrete blocks.
He saw the remnants of the bottom half of a small shed, made of cinder blocks. The top half was long lost to rocket fire or dust storm, he didn't know which. But there were crevasses in the brick work that would give him a safe view to recon from. He decided to move toward it. It was slightly out in the open, but it was a damn good vantage spot. He could hold it.
Keeping low he darted out at a full run as men to each side of him moved into new positions. Moving earnestly he dashed toward the bricks and slid into place much like sliding into third base. He wouldn't jump inside until he could check it for hidden munitions. They loved to plant IED's in places like that. But if it was clean, he had a great spot. Many people would die from this spot if he could take it.
He peered over the top. Looked clean. He looked around at his new perimeter. He saw many of the men settling into doorways, behind sheds, barrels (not a good idea - stupid new recruits) and into any kind of nook and cranny or safe zone they could find. His position was a little bold, but it matched his personality. If nothing else he would draw the most fire, helping to point out all of the enemy positions. Take some shit for the team so they can do their work.
Looking inside, all he saw was a bag of what looked like dried goat manure. Great. They would kill him with bad smell. Suck it in soldier, he told himself, and leaped into the pit that was surrounded by the four rectangular walls of concrete blocks.
And then it started. Gunfire from AK-47's and god knows what else rained down on him. Fuck you tards, I'm not the only one you can shoot at. There's a whole fucking battalion of us out there. Damn, share the wealth. Oh well, this was the plan after all. Draw the fire, let the others pick the bastards off one at a time. He decided to settle in. Maybe lift his helmet on his rifle butt old school style every so often to keep drawing fire.
And then he saw it. The wires beneath the bag of goat shit. Oh shit. Oh serious super shit. It was live. But the gunfire rained down like a hailstorm back in Kansas. Except this weren't Kansas no more Toto. Damn, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Jump out, get riddled. Stay, play Cape Canaveral lift off.
He hesitated. Shouldn't it have gone off by now? Maybe it was triggered. He had to move it to set it off. If it was remote controlled, maybe they had forgotten the cell phone number of the detonator. He decided to stay put. It would be instantaneous.
He considered jumping out again, but he knew he'd be riddled by small arms fire. Damn that would hurt. He decided again to stay.
He wished he had a cigarette. He didn't smoke, but it seemed it would be so soothing to have one now. One last cigarette.
Over the radio he could hear the yells and screams of his comrades. This strategy was working. They were slowly picking off the perpetrators of this poor man's ambush. Who knows, maybe he would see tomorrow's sunrise. Whatever.
He looked at the bag of goat shit. Hard to believe it made the olive trees grow. They did grow some damn fine olives around here. He guessed this was the catalyst. But it fooled him as a cover for an IED. Goat shit, fuck that shit.
"Hey guys, hurry up and clean this up. I've got a bag of goat shit with I'm guessing a 150mm howitzer beneath it in this eight by eight. Love to take up new quarters somewhere else if you know what I mean, but I'm pinned down here."
"Roger that, give us a few minutes. We're clearing them up but they're up on the roof tops, so this is going to take awhile. We'll get you out of there as soon as we can," came the reply from the lieutenant.
And then he saw it. The wires beneath the bag of goat shit. Oh shit. Oh serious super shit. It was live. But the gunfire rained down like a hailstorm back in Kansas. Except this weren't Kansas no more Toto. Damn, he was caught between a rock and a hard place. Jump out, get riddled. Stay, play Cape Canaveral lift off.
He hesitated. Shouldn't it have gone off by now? Maybe it was triggered. He had to move it to set it off. If it was remote controlled, maybe they had forgotten the cell phone number of the detonator. He decided to stay put. It would be instantaneous.
He considered jumping out again, but he knew he'd be riddled by small arms fire. Damn that would hurt. He decided again to stay.
He wished he had a cigarette. He didn't smoke, but it seemed it would be so soothing to have one now. One last cigarette.
Over the radio he could hear the yells and screams of his comrades. This strategy was working. They were slowly picking off the perpetrators of this poor man's ambush. Who knows, maybe he would see tomorrow's sunrise. Whatever.
He looked at the bag of goat shit. Hard to believe it made the olive trees grow. They did grow some damn fine olives around here. He guessed this was the catalyst. But it fooled him as a cover for an IED. Goat shit, fuck that shit.
"Hey guys, hurry up and clean this up. I've got a bag of goat shit with I'm guessing a 150mm howitzer beneath it in this eight by eight. Love to take up new quarters somewhere else if you know what I mean, but I'm pinned down here."
"Roger that, give us a few minutes. We're clearing them up but they're up on the roof tops, so this is going to take awhile. We'll get you out of there as soon as we can," came the reply from the lieutenant.
"Roger." Yeah, in a body bag. Fuck that. He decided to move to the one broken crevasse in the direction from which the gunfire was mostly coming. Maybe he could help remove a few of his new pals who kept sending all these nice lead presents his way.
Glancing through cracks in the walls, he just couldn't get a good sighting. And the bullets winging into his bunker were just too many to dare lift his head. He lay back down to ride it out. He looked up at the red sky and held his breath. Damn, he had never seen it so red. Maybe a dust storm was coming. Oh well, maybe he should just take a nap. And then he head a cell phone ring tone. Dam-
---
"Damn! I died! I hate when that happens. What was my last save point? The hospital? The hospital we wasted? That was forever ago. Now I have to redo the whole mission. This is so lame."
"Ha ha, you suck. Why'd you run out to that shed? You should have kept bouncing through the houses."
"I hate killing friendlies, so I wanted to draw the enemy's fire."
"Friendlies? In this game there ain't no friendlies. Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out."
"Damn this game is hard. It's almost too life like. C'mon, let's do it again."
***
Inspired by:
"Cub Scouts Give Up Entirely, Offer Video Game Badge"
Glancing through cracks in the walls, he just couldn't get a good sighting. And the bullets winging into his bunker were just too many to dare lift his head. He lay back down to ride it out. He looked up at the red sky and held his breath. Damn, he had never seen it so red. Maybe a dust storm was coming. Oh well, maybe he should just take a nap. And then he head a cell phone ring tone. Dam-
---
"Damn! I died! I hate when that happens. What was my last save point? The hospital? The hospital we wasted? That was forever ago. Now I have to redo the whole mission. This is so lame."
"Ha ha, you suck. Why'd you run out to that shed? You should have kept bouncing through the houses."
"I hate killing friendlies, so I wanted to draw the enemy's fire."
"Friendlies? In this game there ain't no friendlies. Kill 'em all and let God sort 'em out."
"Damn this game is hard. It's almost too life like. C'mon, let's do it again."
***
Inspired by:
"Cub Scouts Give Up Entirely, Offer Video Game Badge"
